


Goddamn Poetry

by Llaeyro



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: (a smidge), Age Difference, Alcohol, Background Arthur Morgan/John Marston, Blow Jobs, Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Dirty Talk, Grappling, Implied Background Dutch van der Linde/John Marston, Light Power Play, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Wrestling, no big spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24613729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llaeyro/pseuds/Llaeyro
Summary: Arthur knows when Dutch needs him — and he can't say no to Dutch. (Haven't played RDR1 yet, no spoilers please! Finished the story for RDR2 but not 100%)
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Goddamn Poetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ruinedsalad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruinedsalad/gifts).



> This is my first posted fanfic not in the HP universe. HP followers, fear not, I'm not jumping ship, I'm just paddling here too now. There's more fics in this series in the works.

Hitching his horse, Arthur headed tiredly into camp.

“Arthur,” Sean called out from around the campfire, beckoning him over.

“Just getting myself a beer,” he called back, passing the group and heading for Pearson’s wagon as Uncle picked up his story. The beer would be warm but he needed an easy drink, something comforting, after the day he’d had. There was a calm but happy hum in the air that evening, most already settled down for the night apart from those listening to Uncle. Just as Arthur made to round the end of the wagon, a familiar figure caught his eye, looking out over the lake. He paused for a moment before grabbing a beer and making his way over. Sean called out again behind him, but he waved him off.

“Sod you then, you reticent turd.”

Usually, Arthur would have spoken up, but something about the silhouette ahead of him told him that there were more important matters to see to. As he walked on, he heard John take up the mantle, ribbing Sean’s eclectic vocabulary.

“Dutch,” Arthur greeted, standing beside him and gazing out across the water.

“There’s my boy,” Dutch smiled, reaching out and giving Arthur’s far shoulder a squeeze. He kept his arm there, his full attention on Arthur. “How are you, Arthur?”

“Seen better days, truth be told.”

“Haven’t we all, but when the sun rises tomorrow, it does so with the promise of another chance at a new day.”

Arthur shook his head, chuckling before taking another swig. “You’ve always got some poetry for every situation, haven’t you, Dutch.”

Dutch pulled his arm away, walking towards the moonlit lake before them with his arms spread wide. Arthur was grateful he couldn’t see the shiver at the loss of contact. “Why are we here if not to translate and record the beauty of the world around us? Some men have a brush, and paint it onto great canvases. Me, I’m a simple man, Arthur.” He turned back to face him, faint light from a lantern at the edge of a camp illuminating his features. “All I have are my words.”

“And you’ve got out of some mighty fine messes with them alone, over the years.”

“Ain’t that right,” Dutch chuckled fondly, turning back to the lake.

Arthur joined him at the water’s edge and they stood for a while, comfortable in their silence together. Things were always comfortable with Dutch — he had this way of putting folks at ease, sure — but what they had was different. At least, he liked to think so. Arthur didn’t always go in for all Dutch’s bravado and promises and grand ideas, but he knew it had its place. He’d seen the good it could do, the situations it could get them out of. But behind all that, Arthur liked to think he knew Dutch, after so long riding together and all the rest. He trusted him with most things, more than he’d trust any other, and he just felt comfortable in the man’s presence.

“So, will you be looking to let off some steam tonight, son?”

Unsure what he meant by that, Arthur turned to look at him. Dutch continued to stare out over the water, giving nothing away.

“I’m not all that wound up, nothing a few beers and a good night’s sleep won’t fix, I reckon.” Arthur tipped back his head to finish his beer. When he was done, it was obvious Dutch had been staring. Dutch’s eyes moved up from his throat to meet his gaze, holding it for a long moment.

“Pity,” muttered Dutch, so softly that Arthur wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard it, as he slowly turned back to camp. “Well, I’m heading in.” There was enough reluctance in his tone for Arthur to take a chance on his gut feeling.

“You never stick around in the evenings no more. Nevermind letting off steam, looks like you’re running out of it, old man,” he teased.

“Is that so?” Dutch said, stepping up and taking the bait. “I can show you just how much steam this old man’s still got in him, if that’s what you want, boy.”

The following pause was part of the game they played. Both of them knew what his answer would be. He never could say no to Dutch.

“I reckon you’ve tempted me.”

Dutch smiled and patted his cheek softly before turning away, calling back over his shoulder, “I’ll go on ahead.”

“Right,” Arthur acknowledged, waiting a moment before walking to the back of his own wagon. He quietly stowed his hat and gun belt and discarded the empty beer bottle. He thought about grabbing them each another beer, but they were singing over at the fire and Arthur didn’t want to have to make excuses. Charles, for one, was too observant for his own good. He had a bottle of whiskey in his satchel, so decided that would do, if needed.

When he turned his attention to Dutch’s tent it was already closed up, the light from the lantern inside visible but not enough to cast the shadows of its occupants onto the walls. It should ensure they weren’t disturbed.

Arthur let himself in the back, Dutch not even acknowledging him as he hung his gun belt up with his hat and jacket.

“So,” Arthur asked, voice low, pulse already quickening at the thought of what was to come. “How do you want to do this tonight?”

Dutch turned to face him and, holding eye contact the whole time, deftly undid his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up past the elbow.

“Right, then,” Arthur acknowledged, swiftly lifting off his satchel and laying it onto a crate as he widened his stance.

“Hold up,” Dutch interrupted, one hand raised as he approached. “Before that, I would like to indulge for a moment.” He stopped close, reaching out to tuck a strand of Arthur’s hair behind his ear. “If you’ll permit me.”

“When have you ever known me to not do exactly what you want, hm?” Arthur teased playfully.

“Almost daily,” Dutch retaliated with a grin. “You get things done, but you do it the Arthur Morgan way.”

“I suppose that’s not entirely untrue.”

Dutch clapped his hand reassuringly on Arthur’s shoulder. “But you always come through for me, son.”

“Of course,” Arthur muttered before Dutch closed the gap, bringing their lips together. Arthur ran his tongue boldly across dry lips which opened for him. Dutch tasted of whiskey and smoke. Arthur deepened the kiss and Dutch stepped forward, one thigh pressing against Arthur’s burgeoning erection. Arthur gently pulled away.

“So, are we doing this?” Kissing was nice and all, but Arthur didn’t do nice. He was a to-the-point kind of guy. He liked to get his hands dirty; occasionally his knees too, but only for Dutch.

“Best start low, I reckon. It’s fairly late.”

“Alright,” Arthur agreed, joining Dutch in getting onto his knees.

They usually preferred to start standing — each attempting to wrestle the other to the ground and make him submit — but Dutch was right, folks were sleeping and starting low would cause less of a disturbance.

Dutch squared up, clapping his right hand firmly onto Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur mirrored him, then each of them brought up their left hand to grab the outside of the other’s right shoulder. Locked in, they adjusted their knees and gave each other a nod.

“May I?” Dutch asked conversationally.

“Why, please do, Sir” Arthur mocked genially. Many would have missed the slight hitch in Dutch’s breathing at the title, but not Arthur. Being able to spot those little tells were what allowed him to give Dutch what he wanted. Arthur knew how to get his blood pumping.

“One… Two… Three!”

On three it began; grappling to keep their balance, to get to their feet, while keeping the other down. Dutch’s teeth were barred as they each sought to overpower the other. Neither of them minded either outcome, mostly they enjoyed the process. This wasn’t a challenging of Dutch’s authority. It was about the honor of it. There was nothing shameful about getting on your knees before a man who had earned it.

Truthfully though, Arthur was only along for the ride. When the world started feeling heavy on his shoulders, he could ride out for a while, maybe do a spot of hunting or sketching, and come back home feeling lighter. Dutch spent plenty of time reading and taking in nature, but sometimes he’d find himself under a burden that those little pleasures just couldn’t lift. He needed something more, something visceral. Sometimes, he needed a moment he could control. Other times, he needed to have all responsibility stripped away, just for a little while. Whichever it was, Arthur would give it to him. He just had to work out which it was first.

Arthur gained an advantage as Dutch briefly lost his balance. He took it and raised a knee, planting his foot on the rug and bearing down on Dutch. Dutch’s hands clung desperately to Arthur’s biceps and he lunged forward, throwing his knee hard into Arthur’s shin and knocking him back down. Pressing forward, he raised a knee himself, grinning at the partial victory. Arthur pushed back, enough to make Dutch think he really was trying, but let Dutch stumble to his feet.

With Dutch’s win clear, they released each other and straightened themselves out while they caught their breath.

“Still plenty of steam in this _old man_ , eh son?” Dutch said, dusting off his pants.

“Yes, Sir,” Arthur conceded, moving forward a little so that he was kneeling on the rug rather than the hard wooden slats.

“Well, you know what that means, boy,” Dutch said smugly, flipping open the buttons on his pants and pulling out his hard cock.

“I do, Sir,” Arthur said, cheekily adding, “May I?” as he gestured at his own bulge.

“Please do,” Dutch smiled, running his fingers softly across Arthur’s stubbled jaw.

Arthur hurriedly slipped his suspenders from his shoulders, letting them hang loosely at his sides, and undid his pants. He took himself in hand but that was all, for now. Dutch’s hand moved from his jaw round to the back of his neck. His fingers clenched in Arthur’s hair, getting a good grip with which to steer him by. Arthur looked up at him and opened his mouth, letting Dutch guide his cock between eager lips.

Arthur wasn’t particularly fond of the task itself, but he was always more than happy to do it for Dutch. He liked to know he could make the man feel good, liked to hear him groaning and gasping and know that he was responsible for that. 

Having another man’s cock in your mouth came with a degree of power and responsibility overlooked by many. You had to really trust someone to let them have their teeth around something so important. These days, the only person Arthur trusted that much was Dutch, and Dutch didn’t put out often. It hadn’t gone so well for Arthur the last time he’d had let someone else suck him off. He hadn’t trusted John with it since, but he told himself it didn't matter much. He had plenty of other ways to keep him in line. Arthur flicked his tongue against the underside of Dutch’s cock and heard him moan softly. 

“That’s it, boy,” Dutch praised quietly, “Don’t forget to see to yourself, now.”

Arthur groaned as he began to move his hand up and down his own cock, letting Dutch fuck his mouth with shallow thrusts. After a while, Dutch’s fingers tightened in his hair, pulling Arthur further onto his cock. He took the hint, shifting his knees and bracing his free hand against Dutch’s hip as he took control. He took him in all the way, gradually increasing the leisurely speed Dutch had set.

“Shit, I forget how good you are at this,” Dutch mumbled reverently, sweeping Arthur’s hair from his face where damp strands had begun to cling to his forehead. Arthur’s hand on his own cock sped up to match the pace of his mouth.

“Arthur…” Dutch warned, allowing him to back off slightly. Lips wrapped tightly around the head of Dutch’s cock, he brought up his free hand to work the shaft until Dutch spilled into his mouth with a long, restrained groan.

Spent and satiated, Dutch stumbled to the side and fell down heavily on his cot with a chuckle. Arthur huffed fondly before wiping his mouth against his sleeve. He spat in his hand and gripped his cock firmly, running his thumb across the head with each pass.

“Arthur, come here,” Dutch beckoned, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the cot. Arthur ignored him, trying to focus on the sounds that had been falling from the man’s mouth just moments ago — sounds that Arthur had drawn out of him.

“I said, _stop that_ ,” Dutch said, hushed but forcefully this time as he knocked Arthur on the arm. “Come here.”

“What?” Arthur replied insolently, still not moving and barely slowing down.

“I don’t want you making a mess on my rug, boy,” Dutch explained impatiently, “Now _come here_.”

“Oh, I’ll _come here_ , alright…” Arthur murmured, lurching to his feet and turning to stand before Dutch. 

“If you’re going to get smart with me, Arthur, you can go see to yourself in the _privacy_ of your own quarters.” Dutch’s actions belied his words as he grabbed Arthur’s hips and pulled him closer.

“Come on now, Dutch. Neither of us wants that.”

Dutch wrapped a hand around Arthur’s cock and looked up at him.

“What is it you _do_ want, hm?”

“You know what I want,” Arthur said, trying his best to remain patient. He knew Dutch wasn’t beyond turning him away.

“Say it.”

Arthur softly shook his head and sighed. He didn’t understand why Dutch continued to play these games with him, but he must get something out of it to persist with such an unwilling participant. Arthur just wanted to come. “I want you to suck my cock, Dutch.”

“You’ll have to do better than that, boy,” Dutch smirked, slowly stroking to the tip of Arthur’s cock and spreading the pre-come over the head with his thumb.

“Please,” Arthur said simply, in a tone that he hoped communicated that he wasn’t willing to compromise any more than that.

“I suppose that will do, this time...”

From the second the wet heat of Dutch’s mouth engulfed his cock, Arthur was close. He fought to keep his hips still, letting Dutch set the pace he was comfortable with. A grunted ‘yes’ was all the warning Arthur managed to get out, fists clenching at his sides and head thrown back as he came.

Arthur quickly tucked himself away and righted his clothing, turning to grab his satchel with the whiskey in.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Dutch said softly from behind him.

“It was quite literally my pleasure,” Arthur replied, back still to Dutch. No need to make things awkward.

“And it would have been, either way. So… Thank you.”

Arthur did face him then with a soft sigh, seeing Dutch getting ready to turn in. He closed and shouldered his satchel, not wanting to outstay his welcome. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re getting at, Dutch.”

Dutch stepped towards him. “I know you let me win.” 

“Well, maybe I wanted you to win,” Arthur tried to deflect unconvincingly.

“Maybe, or perhaps you knew what I needed. I know you, Arthur Morgan.” Another step closer. “And you know me. Better than anyone.”

“I don’t know about that. I wasn’t expecting you to do… _that_ tonight.” Arthur gestured vaguely at the cot to illustrate his ineloquent point.

Dutch smiled, glancing away briefly before coming nose-to-nose with him. “Well, when I wake up in the morning unsure of whether this was a dream or reality, I’ll have the taste of you lingering in my mouth.” 

“You and your goddamn poetry,” Arthur murmured against his lips before kissing him hard. Dutch’s lips opened immediately, Arthur tasting himself on Dutch’s tongue. 

Arthur pulled away forcefully, knowing that if he didn’t go now, he’d want to stay and that simply wasn’t an option.

“Goodnight, Arthur.” Dutch turned back to his cot. Arthur took the hint and moved to the door. He went to the front, knowing he’d be more likely to be heard tripping over pegs around the back trying to get to his tent in the dark.

“Night, Dutch,” he called softly over his shoulder, stepping into the night.

He made sure the tent was closed behind him before turning to find John, standing at the door to his own tent. The light was low, but he could tell from John’s posture that he wasn’t happy with the situation. Arthur only smirked at him before heading for bed.

When he fell asleep, it was with a soft smile on his lips, looking forward to _dealing_ with John in the morning.


End file.
